


All The Things You Said

by fullonzombae



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, blaine is actively trying to be a better person, canon divergent to s4, post-S3, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-22 17:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullonzombae/pseuds/fullonzombae
Summary: Ate (there are other known spellings) is the Greek Goddess of mischief, delusion, ruin and folly.





	1. Things You Said Over The Phone

"Liv, it's half two in the morning."

"I know." Liv let out a sigh, the phone rested against her ear. "I couldn't sleep."

"And you assumed I'd be awake?" There was an amusement to Blaine's tone, and Liv could swear she could hear the rustling of covers. "Wow. I mean, you were right. But that was a bit of a gamble."

"Night shifts. They screw up your sleeping patterns. I remember when I used to work at the hospital..."

On the other end of the line, Blaine settled back into his bed, a hint of a smile upon his lips as he listened to her waffling away.

"... Even on my nights off, even after I'd taken a week off, I'd wake up at 2am, ready for my rounds. It's habit, I guess. It's when you're most used to being active. Your body insists that you should be awake."

"So, what's your excuse? I mean, you're pretty... Well, not nine-to-five, but you're not pulling all-nighters at the morgue three times a week."

"I don't know. It's like something's eating at me. Can't work out what. And Peyton's asleep. Ravi - once his head hits the pillow - that's it, he's dead to the world. And god forbid I wake Clive. Can you imagine the tongue lashing I'd get."

"Miss Moore!" Blaine's imitation of Clive's warning tone was almost perfect, and he was rewarded with a quiet laugh from Liv. "I mean, he manages to make it sound like you're in a lot more trouble, but... You know."

"That was a pretty good impression, I should give you that."

"Yeah? I mean, I tried to pin down Major once, but I don't think I've got that whole sculpted God thing going for me. Just doesn't work."

Silence, and Blaine remembered just how Liv and Major were no longer on talking terms. The New Seattle had done that, driven a wedge between them. Major had sided with Chase Graves, accepting of his vision of a zombie homeland. Liv had watched as the man she loved - the man she had loved - had joined forces with a man who viewed segragation as a necessity. A man who decided who needed to be 'saved' with the gift of zombieism. Was it that different from who Blaine had once been?

"Liv, you can't be mad at him forever."

"I'm not mad, Blaine."

"No? When's the last time you spoke to him, then. Huh? I mean, that's you... You ice people out when they really piss you off. Usually. I mean, what. Was it favouritism for me?"

There was a disbelieving laugh from Liv. "Call it what you want, Blaine."

"Yeah? A 2:30 phone call? The inability to stay away, no matter how much I piss you off?"

Silence.

"... What are you doing tomorrow night? Say, seven o'clock?"


	2. Things You Said With The TV On Mute

"You need to stay still." Blaine grit his teeth as he dabbed at the graze on Liv's forehead, and she wondered if his frustration was with her restlessness, or with the incidents that had led to her arriving an hour earlier than they'd agreed, with blood cascading from her brow. She had never been the perfect patient, struggling instead to deal with being on the wrong side of the gauze.

She had been six when she'd flown over the handlebars of her bike. Her mother had dusted her off and fretted over the bumps and bruises. But Liv had insisted she was fine, and instead dissolved into tears as she noticed the mangled tyre from where she had collided with the lamppost. She hadn't worried about the tooth that was missing, for it had been loose anyway, and she hadn't cried over the fact her arm ached. She'd seen much worse on the days her father had taken her to the hospital to surprise Eva.

"You know it's superficial, right?" Liv gestured to the wound, her chin raised as she challenged Blaine. He answered her with that tight-lipped smile that told her they weren't having this argument.

"Just shut up and let me get you cleaned up. There's debris in there. Can zombies still catch infections?"

Liv's answer was nothing more than a huff as she watched the screen. Images of Seattle flashed across the screen, as the residents of outside neighbourhoods lamented the poor souls within the city walls. She didn't need Blaine to turn the volume up to know that they were talking about the monsters that Seattle contained, that they were discussing the most appropriate fate. She closed her eyes and leaned back, finally relaxing enough for Blaine to pull a piece of gravel from the wound.

"Do you think they'll ever accept us?" The back of her eyelids was a much better view than the recordings of the wall that was now across the TV. A reminder of their prison, and a taunting of just how close freedom could be.

"Why would they? Liv, we're their worst nightmare. We're the things they warn their kids of at night. 'Best behave, or I might let that monster get you.' The go-to parental threat."

"No-one threatens their children with that, Blaine."

"... You mean your parents didn't."

She looked at him through one lazily opened eye, and as he began packing away the first aid kit, Liv sat up. "I'm sorry."

"Look, we're not discussing it now, Liv." He refused to meet her eye, turning away as he made his way to the kitchen. She sat up, drawing her knees up onto the sofa as she watched him, hawklike as she waited for an explanation. It never came. "You never told me who did this," he said after a long silence as he pulled a pasta bake from the oven.

"What, so you can go and beat the crap out of them? Turn them into us?"

"So cynical. Do you want parmesan? No, Liv. I wouldn't hurt them." His smile was tight-lipped, sinister, and one that Liv had seen a hundred times before. "Single bullet to the head. Make it look like Human Shield got the wrong guy."

"And that's exactly why I won't tell you," she answered as she took a plate from Blaine as he stood in front of her. Balancing the plate on her lap, she switched the channel and turned up the volume.


	3. Things You Said When You Were Proud

She wasn't impressed. If the folded arms and the scowl upon her face didn't tell Blaine that, then the incessant tapping of Liv's foot made it abundantly clear. Every now and then she'd look at him and her mouth would open as if she were about to protest his latest bout of stupidity, but then she seemed to think better of it, her jaw clenching as she looked away.

In his defence, most of the blood on his shirt wasn't his.

Oh, he should know that would do little to quell the storm that raged inside her, her unbridled anger as she'd dragged him home from the crime scene. She'd pleaded with Clive to let her handle this, and somehow, through a breath of reluctance, Clive had left her to her own devices. Perhaps, Blaine told himself, it was because Liv knew her way around a scalpel. She could certainly exact the death penalty on her own. If she decided against that, however, she could ice him out, until he decided the best option was to throw himself off the nearest building.

"You remember the part where I told you I didn't want you going after them, right?" She wasn't looking at him, and that was how Blaine knew that he'd better get out of the way of any potentially flight-worthy cutlery. If he called Clive to report a potential upcoming homicide, he'd get nothing more than 'Sorry, Blaine, you deserve that one.' Perhaps Ravi would be more sympathetic. "I told you to leave them, that I didn't want you doing anything stupid."

Oh, Liv. You poor naive fool. He looked over at her, an expression that somewhat resembled a wounded puppy upon his face. Often, it would calm her. But today, she turned to face him, and nothing more than anger simmered beneath the surface. "You're lucky they survived. If they'd died, Blaine, if you'd scratched them, if that had been anything worse than it was, you'd be in deep, deep shit."

"What, so I was supposed to let them go unpunished for what they did to you?"

"Why is that so hard to understand?"

"Liv, they attacked you. Christ, you're lucky it's taken me this long to go after them."

"Lucky? If I was lucky, Blaine, you'd have listened when I asked you not to go after them. If I was lucky, you'd listen to what I want."

He fell silent and looked down at his shoes, mumbling about how they shouldn't have gotten away with it, about how the city was going soft on human-on-zombie crime. As he heard the trickling of liquids, he looked up to see her pouring herself a large glass of wine. Was he that stressful?

"You might not agree with what I did, Liv, but how is it any different to all those times you tried to protect anyone you cared about?"

"I didn't go beating the crap out of someone who didn't stand a chance against me. That's not brave, or noble, Blaine. That's fucking cowardice."

Was that the label she was going with? Shaming him as a coward? Blaine lifted his jaw, the defensive defiance for which he was famed clear upon his face. He could accuse her of the same. She'd hidden her truths from the people she cared about. She'd failed to pull that trigger, not once, but twice. To call her a coward, though? It would be the kind of folly he could lay at the feet of Ate. It would be a gross misunderstanding of all that she was, and the words would leave nothing in his mouth except that bitter taste of regret.

He stood, swiping his keys from the table, his gaze fixed firmly on Liv. "You want to chastise me for what I did, fine. Want to tell me it was wrong, just to ease your conscience? Fine. But don't think for one second I wouldn't do it again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ate (there are other known spellings) is the Greek Goddess of mischief, delusion, ruin and folly.


	4. Things You Said When You Were Sorry

She found him holding a foundation brush, a look of concentration as he applied a layer of foundation to a cadaver's face. Blaine had fallen silent after their argument, and for days, she'd revelled in the silence. But by now, she'd come to miss his smart-ass comments, as much as she hated to admit it. She'd hated the random messages, or him dropping by the morgue with her usual coffee order just to catch up. She'd started to miss him.

He looked up as he finished smoothing the foundation, offering a tight-lipped smile. It was that one that came with his frustrations, his ire, and those days when he felt Seattle was out to test his patience. Today, she suspected she was the one testing his last nerve.

"That wall's making progress out there." Liv pushed her hands deep into her coat pockets, offering Blaine an apologetic shrug as he reached for a lipstick. "Not long now, and there'll be no getting in or out."

"Wasn't an option for us anyway, Liv." He didn't look up as he carefully applied a coat of lipstick. His expression was unimpressed, and with an eventual sigh, he reached for the tissues and wiped it away. "What, you figured out a way to fool the blood pressure monitors?"

Oh, he was impossible, and Liv rolled her eyes, making her way over to the counter behind him. She flicked on the coffee machine, as if this place were her own, before turning back to face Blaine. "You know what I mean, Blaine. Sooner or later, the way this entire city runs is going to change. Even more than it has already. Question is, who are you going to be when that wall's finished?" She watched him set down the lipstick. "You'll need to blot that."

"You here to question my life choices, Liv? Really?" He took one of the tissues she offered all the same and blotted carelessly at it. Liv walked over, examining his handiwork, before sighing.

"Candy's day off, right?" She took the tissue and wiped the remainder of the lipstick from the corpse, before applying a thin stroke of lipliner. "Now try." She stepped back, watching Blaine apply a fresh layer. Taking the tissue, she blotted the lipstick carefully, looking up at Blaine. "Actually, I just wanted to know. Sticking with this, The Scratching Post? Or are you branching out..."

"What do you think of Romero's. For a restaurant, I mean." She answered him with a scrunching of her face and a shake her head.

"That's distasteful, Blaine."

He sighed, and she rolled her eyes. "Actually, I was going more for gourmet dining. I mean, why not?" He took a blusher pallet, and Liv shook her head at his first choice. "Look, I've got the background experience. Sure, I'm no good at cooking for a larger clientele, but that's what chefs are for, right? And now, I have the whole... captive market?"

"Not going to be serving the brains of murdered teens, right?"

A lesser person would have withered at the look he gave her, but instead, Liv took the blusher brush, evening out his strokes. "I've not been doing that for two years, Liv. Why go back to it now?" He gestured towards the cheeks of the woman on the table, and Liv smirked at his annoyance. "That's exactly how I was doing it!"

"You were making her look like Pennywise! I was half expecting her to tell me I'll float, too." She laughed at the scoff that came from behind her, turning to face him. "I don't think you should let Candy have any more days off. You clearly can't handle it."

"You know, I missed you, Liv. Didn't think I'd be admitting that." There was something pitiful about him, and Liv watched him for a moment, before sighing and laying the brush down on the table. She turned away from him and walked away. She wouldn't bend, nor break, and she most certainly would not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

The silence hung between them, and it wasn't the comfortable silence that had come with the days they'd spent watching meaningless shows, nor the silence that came as two people adjusted to the early morning routine of shared coffees and hogging the newspaper. This was the silence that came with remorse, and bitterness, and anger, and betrayal. She hadn't heard him approach her and the feeling of his hand on her arm came as a surprise.

"Liv, I fucked up. You set boundaries, and I broke them. Look, I'm scum. You've said so yourself. Asked me not to go after them, and I let instincts take over. I'm not saying I wouldn't do it again, but I'm sorry." As she turned to face him, he cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her skin with that tenderness that comes with familiarity. "I'm sorry. From now on, you tell me not to go after someone, I'll listen."


	5. Things You Said Under Your Breath

"Liv?" 

She examined herself in the mirror, sighing as Blaine called her. This dress was almost perfect. Figure hugging, burgundy, with a lace detail that she adored. So why did she have her doubts? 

"Liv, seriously. We're going to be late." 

Was it too tight? Too short? She turned, trying to find that one spot that just didn't feel right, before pulling off the dress and casting it to the floor. 

"Liv. We're supposed to be there in fifteen minutes. It takes 18 minutes to get there in good traffic." 

Whoever had the bright idea of giving Blaine Type A brains had a lot to answer for. She picked up a pale pink knee length dress. As she fastened it, a smile of satisfaction settled upon her lips. This was the dress, she decided, as she reached for her jacket. This one was perfection, and she examined herself once more in the mirror. She left her room, finding Blaine waiting, a withering look on his face. 

"Seriously, Liv? We've got ten minutes to get there." 

"Will you calm down?" She made her way to the kitchen, plucking up a piece of brain as she went. "Look. I've checked him out. He's notoriously late as it is." She poured herself a glass of wine, taking a sip as she looked up at Blaine. "This?" She gestured to him and laughed as he rolled his eyes. "This is your lunch talking." 

He didn't look amused. Liv knocked back the rest of her wine, dumping the glass by the sink. "Right. We're ready. Let's go." 

But the mirror was one more obstacle, and Liv stopped, looking at her reflection with the critical eye her mother had passed on through strands of DNA. Turning slightly, her brow furrowed. "I should have gone with the black one." 

"Liv, you look fine. Let's go. Please?" 

Fine? She looked fine? Liv let out a noise of frustration and disappeared back into her room. Blaine's voice called after her as she shrugged off the fourth dress she'd tried on that evening and cast it to one side, eventually picking up her first choice once more. 

"Olivia, are you doing this on purpose?" He sounded far from impressed, and Liv walked back out into the hallway, turning her back to Blaine as she let him fasten the zip. "I told you this one looked perfect the first time," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. She tried to hide her amusement, taking his arm as they left the apartment. 

The restaurant was bigger inside than it had appeared from the sidewalk. As the real estate agent, William Anderson, made his way over to them, Blaine extended his hand, offering a firm handshake. They took a seat at the Chef's table, and as they sat, Blaine squeezed her hand gently. 

"The previous owner fled Seattle. Hardly a strange story, given that we've had 398 businesses become available under the same circumstances. I won't bore you with the details of how many residential properties have come up." William laughed, and Blaine offered a polite chuckle in response. Liv merely sipped at her wine, watching the back and forth of the kitchen staff. It had, in the past few weeks, fallen into that state of neglect. That state that made it clear the remaining staff had given up, knowing that the restaurant would be sold any day now. But where Liv saw emptiness, Blaine seemed to see opportunity. 

"And the staff? Do they have other jobs lined up? Obviously, I'd want to ensure that there's no anti-zombie sentiments amongst the employees, and I'd need the details of a good lawyer when it comes to drawing up contracts." As a waiter approached the table, he gave her his order, waiting for the others to order before he restarted his conversation. "But this isn't a lost cause. Pacino's was renowned throughout Seattle for fine-dining. We'd just be catering to a larger crowd. Zombies, as well as their friends, their families. I just think the price you're looking at is a little high." 

As William left the table, Blaine leaned in closer to Liv, his hand rested on her knee. "Did you see how he was looking at you?" She looked at him, her expression puzzled. "Face it, Liv. You're the hottest person in here. And that dress..." His gaze dropped, and she smiled, wondering if she should act coy, if only until they got home. But instead, she laced her fingers in with his and squeezed gently, and as he looked at her once more, she held his gaze. "...I told you it was perfect," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper.


	6. Things You Said When You Were Lost

To find Chase Graves in his office wasn't just a disappointment. It was that bitter reminder that any world he tried to build himself could easily be pulled down in an instance. Once, he would have happily found a way to be sure that Chase could never darken the corners of his room again, and there were times he wouldn't have flinched at the thought of putting a single bullet through the man's head.

But now, Liv's chastisements and Liv's frustrations played on his mind.

He cast his eyes over the file in front of Chase and turned towards his filing cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. Hardly one that would be missed, and certainly one he could justify pouring for Chase. "Drink?" He was answered with a shake of Chase's head, and Blaine sighed, pouring himself a drink. "Well, I'm guessing you're not here for a social call. Bit brass of you to let yourself into someone's office, though. I mean... I'm sure Don E would have offered you a drink."

"Cut the bull, McDonough." Chase flung his legs from the desk, settling forward in Blaine's chair with his hands clasped. Just two days earlier, Blaine had chastised one of the barmaids for her tardiness, and he had assumed the exact same pose as Chase, commanding the same authority over the room. It was a pose he had seen his father strike. That pose hadn't been the only thing his father had struck. "Now, in case you're not aware, things are changing around here."

"Really? Wow. I thought it was business as normal." Blaine raised his glass to his lips, a hand thrust deep in his pocket. He oozed disinterest, crossing the room slowly to examine the map pinned upon his wall.

"Well, it's not. That wall's going up, us zombies aren't getting out, and Filmore-Graves has been placed in control of making sure zombies don't step a foot out of line."

"So, you're here to ask me to play nice."

"Wishful thinking. No." He looked amused, and for a moment, Blaine could swear that he could see a hint of sadism in his smile. "I'm here to tell you that your criminal record - every caution, every interview, every thing you've ever been suspected of - is mine, now."

"Are you threatening me?" Blaine lowered his glass, narrowing his eyes as he met Chase's gaze. "Not cool, buddy. Not..." Chase cut him off, simply raising his hand. A power play.

"No. I'm not threatening you. I'm making you an offer. See, I need an informant. Someone with their ear to the ground in the criminal underworld."

"I'm not interested." He knocked back the last of his whiskey. "If you hadn't heard, I've gone straight. Changed man. All that jazz. And if you don't mind, Chase, I have a bar to run."

"Nope. See, that's the thing." Chase opened the file, pulling out a copy of the deeds to The Scratching Post. "I control everything in this city, Blaine. What happens to the criminals. Who gets to enter which parts of the city. And who stays in business. So, let me rephrase my offer. You can come to me once a week, tell me everything you know that I don't, every quiver of the criminal web, and not only do you get to stay open, but your crimes stay where you think they should - in the past. You get to go home to Liv, I get the bad guys, and everyone's happy. Or you can remain the stubborn fuck that you are, and you can watch as you lose everything you love. Your choice, Blaine, but if I haven't seen you by noon on Monday, I'll take that as your refusal."

 

As Blaine let himself into Liv's apartment, he stumbled over the mat, cursing loudly. At just after three in the morning, he supposed he should be quiet, and steadying himself on the wall, he made his way over to the kitchen. He remembered that Liv had been on bratty teenager brains, and almost every appliance in the living room had been left turned on whenever she had staggered off for bed. He dumped a paper bag on the counter and sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He had been hungry as he had stood in the Chinese takeaway, but now, the thought of food turned his stomach. Blaine stared at the bag for a moment, as if focusing his attention on the food would somehow bring back his appetite. After realising his tactics would never work, he swapped the chow mein for another glass of whiskey, and the spring rolls for ice cubes. As he drank, he tidied up Liv's mess, wondering if - when he needed her to - she'd do the same for him.

She woke as he climbed into bed, and Blaine rolled onto his side, facing away from her. When the alternative was looking at her despite knowing how disappointed she'd be, it seemed like the safest option. Her arm slid round his waist all the time, and he closed his eyes, exhaling as she pressed closer to him. He should have gone back to his apartment, he told himself. Should have locked himself away. But his drunken heart had begged to be closer to the very person who would despise everything he had now decided. Of course he wanted to tell her everything, to find a way out of the mess he had found himself in as his past had caught up with him, and he wanted her assurances, but the truth got caught in his throat, until he mumbled the only truth he could manage, and the truth that - should she recoil - he could blame entirely on the whiskey of that night.

"I love you."


	7. Things You Said When Our World Began To Crumble

Blaine woke with the dipping of the bed, and as he felt Liv's lip against his cheek, he smiled softly. The mattress moved again as Liv went to stand, and Blaine opened one eye, catching sight of the time. 6:30am. Rolling over, he grabbed Liv by her waist, tugging her back down onto the bed.

"Blaine!" Liv let out a shriek, before dissolving into giggles as she looked up at him. "I've got to get ready for work." She reached up and pressed a kiss to his nose, then settled down back against the pillows.

Let the moment stay like this, Blaine thought, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. Let the moment remain pure, and keep her oblivious. Let these seconds stretch to hours, and let my own moment of reckoning never come. I'll be good, if I can just keep this memory forever, untainted. I'll undo every wicked thing I've ever done. She caught his lips once more and Blaine slid his arms around her, praying to some higher God that this was all he'd ever know - the feeling of her embrace, the taste of her lips, and the smell of her skin. He was dragged from his thoughts by the feeling of her hand wrapping around him, enticing him, pleading for him, and in a silent acknowledgement, he slowly brought his hand between her legs, trailing kisses down her body until he met his own fingers and the intimate folds of her skin.

As she left their post-coital haven, Blaine buried his face in her pillow. He'd let her leave before he even left her bed, as if that would soften his betrayal, and as he listened to the sound of the shower running, he savoured the smell of her shampoo from where she'd laid before.

Perhaps, he thought, killing Chase would be a better option. But how could opportunity strike? The man had every eye in the city on him, and this was not a nobody whose death would go unnoticed. As much as Liv despised Chase, would she ever forgive Blaine for killing him? Damn, sometimes he wished he could understand her morals, just so he knew how to lay his dilemma at her feet. He hated the complications and nuances that followed her perceptions of justice, and how her manipulation of rules and laws were justifiable, yet his... His made him a monster.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but as Blaine woke once more, the apartment was shrouded in that silence that made him miss Liv even more. He reached over to check his phone, the glare of the clock bringing him more displeasure than anything else. This was his reality; he could refuse Chase's offer, and lose his freedom, his life, the chance at a happily-ever-after that he knew he didn't deserve. Blaine dragged himself from bed, dressing himself in yesterday's clothes. He'd have time to shower later, to rinse himself of guilt and regret, but now? He needed that coffee, as if the bitterness would make the day ahead more palatable. Betrayal was easier on caffeine.

* * *

 

"I don't know. He seemed... Different." Liv carefully placed the liver on the scales as she spoke, frowning as she waited for the needle to settle upon a weight. She read the weight back to Ravi, before handing him the liver. "Almost like something was weighing on his mind. He didn't get in until... I don't even know what time, but he wasn't back by 1am, and I fell asleep after that. He's hiding something." Ravi didn't answer at first, and Liv watched him with impatience as she waited for an explanation. A reason. Instead, he busied himself with writing notes, until she uttered his name with a sharp inference.

"What... Oh. Wait. I was supposed to be surprised by that?" Ravi set down his clipboard and pulled on a pair of gloves to carefully examine the liver. "Liv, the man's a psychopathic, torturous murderer, and you somehow managed to end up in a relationship with him? Which - by the way - was news to me up until last week." A frown settled on his face and Liv watched as he tilted the liver towards her. "... That look normal to you?"

Liv shook her head. "Alcoholic, Ravi. Look, that's not the point. I get it. Blaine is never going to be your favourite person, and there's a lot of shit in his past that we're still trying to navigate, but he's actively trying not to be an asshole..."

"Shit, Blaine DeBeers? Turning over a new leaf? Why don't you go and ask Peyton about that!"

Liv flinched at the raised voice. Of course Ravi was never going to take this news easily, and Peyton was still a bridge that needed to be crossed. It was a confrontation that she was dreading, and a conversation that she wished she could predict. "It's not the same. He's been honest, he's... This is the first time he's lied to me, and I don't know what's changed."

"Worst case scenario, Liv?" Ravi peeled off his gloves and dropped them in the bin. As he began to wash his hands, he continued to talk. "I mean, what. You expecting him to be covering up a murder? Another plot for mass extortion? Terrorism?" Liv shook her head, her eyes closed.

"I don't know, Ravi. I don't know."

"Listen, Liv. I'm never going to be his biggest fan. So this? What I'm about to say? It's to protect you, yeah." He lifted Liv's chin to force her to look at him. "The past few months, you've been happier than I've seen you in a long time. But if you can't trust Blaine, those days are gonna be far and few between. You ever think you can truly trust him? Because from where I'm standing, you're always going to be looking over your shoulder, worrying that his actions are gonna fuck things up for you. You need better than that."

Liv closed her eyes and pulled away from Ravi's grip, brushing away an angry tear. "The fuck would you know about trust, huh?" She turned back to face him, her expression contorted in rage. "I'm not talking about friends, Ravi. Peyton. The fuck would you know about being trustworthy? 'Cause you fucked her over, several fucking times. So, don't think you can lecture me on trusting someone, when it's pretty clear that the woman you supposedly love can't trust you." She tugged off her lab coat and slammed it down onto the nearby stool, not stopping to hear his retaliation as she left the morgue.

* * *

 

The Scratching Post was filled with the usual hubbub of drunken customers as Liv arrived. Had she been drunk herself, she might have found the atmosphere more tolerable, but now the stench of stale beer and too much cologne was choking. Suffocating. Casting her eyes around the bar, she tried to find sight of Blaine. Instead, she found herself greeted with the outstretched arms of a Filmore-Graves missionary, calling her name in a drunken familiarity. Liv swerved, narrowly missing him as she made her excuse.

Shit. How had she navigated this bar so many times before, she wondered, as she pushed her way past a crowd towards Blaine's office. Could she find a way to get him to open up, she wondered, to get him to believe that she was on his side, should he keep to his word? No murder, no blackmail, no extortion, and no torture. She was sure there were other clauses in their unwritten contract, but those? Right now, they were the ones that sprung to mind. She could hear some things out, but where would she draw that line, she wondered. And how would she know if he was telling the truth?

She recognised the song that was playing as soon as she opened the office door. A slow smile crept onto her lips as she watched him, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, as he mouthed along to the words. I guess every form of refuge has its price. Liv stepped closer, her footsteps silenced by the sound of the words, and as she reached Blaine, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips.

As his eyes flew open, Liv knew something was wrong. His hand had reached instinctively for his knife, and Liv grabbed his wrist to stop him. She carefully pried the knife from his fingers, setting it down on his desk, before straightening herself up to glare down at him.

"You want to tell me what's up?"

"Nothing's up, Liv. I just don't appreciate people creeping up on me."

"Bullshit." She folded her arms, leaning back against the desk. "You want to stop insulting me and tell me the truth?" She was used to his dishonesty. She had had five years of knowing his dishonesty, knowing when to trust him, and when something just seemed outside the realms of comfort. This time, Blaine seemed even more discomforted than he had been with a bullet lodged in his stomach and an untested cure stabbed into his leg, and even less trustworthy than when he'd claimed he was a changed man. She had watched every nuance, every quiver, and she had come to know how he could deceive someone, yet also - for the past five months - how he hadn't dared lie to her.

She waited for an answer, but the only response came with the song fading out as it reached its end, and another starting in its place. Liv stood, slowly and surely, her gaze fixed on Blaine for a moment as she smoothed out her skirt. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

She didn't wait for his answer as she left his office, but as she closed the door behind her, Liv was sure she could hear the sound of glass smashing against a brick wall. 


End file.
